


the simple things are the hardest to say

by nikkiRA



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22814272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkiRA/pseuds/nikkiRA
Summary: It's a special day in Enbarr, and both Hubert and Ferdinand finally work up the courage to make a move. But their gifts get misinterpreted, and things get a little complicated.The situation is this: against his better judgement, he is in love with Ferdinand von Aegir, and it’s about time he actually does something about it. Which is why he’s been scribbling lists all day, trying to think of something to do for this rotten holiday that Ferdinand loves so much. He wants to do something nice, something special, something more than just tea. It needs to be something more, something that will let Ferdinand know how truly special he is. The last time Hubert had tried to tell him, Ferdinand had told him to put it in a letter, but --Oh. Hm. That might not be such a bad idea.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 14
Kudos: 190
Collections: Ferdibert Gang Valentine Flashbang





	the simple things are the hardest to say

**Author's Note:**

> absurdly this was finished by valentine's day but seventy thousand things happened. this was written for the valentine's flashbang on the ferdibert discord server!! a big thank you to my artist Ashezi for helping me come up with this idea!
> 
> title is from light leaves dark sees by los campesinos!
> 
> [the fantastic art is here!! go retweet it <3 ](https://twitter.com/dmurderaknc/status/1230418011980468224?s=20)

“Here you are, Prime Minister,” the man says, passing Ferdinand a coat carefully over the counter. Ferdinand takes it and examines it, a smile spreading across his face. 

“Oh, Leon,” he says. “It is absolutely perfect.”

Leon glows from the praise. “My pleasure, sir,” he says warmly. “I just want to thank you for choosing my shop. I know there’s a lot of tailors in Enbarr. Means an awful lot to be the Prime Minister’s choice.”

Ferdinand beams at him, folding the coat carefully and placing it back in the box. “Of course, Leon. I think it is important to support our local businesses. Now how much do I owe you?”

“No charge for you, Prime Minister. Being able to say you shop here is more than enough.”

Ferdinand gives him a stern look. “No, no, I will hear none of that. I am a customer just like any other. I insist.”

“It was really my pleasure, sir,” Leon says. Ferdinand sighs. 

“In that case, I will have to estimate the price,” he says, fishing his coin purse out of his pocket. “Taking into account time, and materials, and labour… will this be enough?” He puts down several large gold coins down on the counter and watches Leon’s eyes widen. 

“That is… far too generous, sir.”

“Consider the rest a tip, then,” Ferdinand says with a smile. “I do so appreciate your time and discretion, Leon. Thank you ever so much.”

“My pleasure, Prime Minister. And, if you don’t mind me saying… I hope he likes it, sir.”

Ferdinand laughs, light and cheery. “As do I,” he says, before sweeping out of the store. 

* * *

As Ferdinand is picking up his secret tailored coat, Hubert is in his office,  _ freaking out.  _ He’s been pacing up and down for so long that he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d worn a groove on the floor. He runs a hand through his hair for approximately the two hundredth time and sits back down at his desk. There he has written down the world’s saddest possible list:

~~ Tea? (boring)   
Something for horse?   
???? ~~

Hubert crumples up the absolutely useless list and chucks it in the corner of his office. This is why he  _ hates  _ this holiday. He has always hated this holiday. He leans back in his chair and rubs his hands over his face, taking stock of his situation. 

The situation is this: against his better judgement, he is in love with Ferdinand von Aegir, and it’s about time he actually does something about it. Which is why he’s been scribbling lists all day, trying to think of something to do for this rotten holiday that Ferdinand loves  _ so much.  _ He wants to do something nice, something special, something more than just  _ tea.  _ It needs to be something more, something that will let Ferdinand know how truly special he is. The last time Hubert had tried to tell him, Ferdinand had told him to put it in a letter, but -- 

Oh. Hm. That might not be such a bad idea. 

He grabs a fresh sheet of paper and a quill and sets to work putting down his thoughts. It is not hard to form the words, but it is hard to put them to paper. He has spent so long thinking these thoughts and then forcing them down that to let them out is hard to do. But he holds nothing back; as scary as it is, Ferdinand deserves the truth of his heart. 

It turns out much longer than expected, of course. Once he gets started it’s hard to stop, as years of feelings pour out of him, and when he is finished he folds it up, including a single gold coin in the envelope. Regardless of what Hubert thought about the day, it was important to Ferdinand, which meant he had to do it right. 

When he’s sealed the envelope he tucks it into his coat pocket and leaves his room. After that, it is easy to sneak into Ferdinand’s office and leave the letter neatly on his desk. A little too easy, actually. Hubert would have to discuss that with Ferdinand. But all in all, he is feeling rather… happy with how it all turned out. Maybe, he thinks, as he heads back to his own office, maybe this day wasn’t so bad after all. 

All thoughts of Ferdinand leave his head as soon as he enters his office, because something is wrong. He knows it the moment he opens his door. He can  _ sense  _ it. Someone else was in here. 

It shouldn’t have been a problem. Hubert had plenty of traps and tricks in place for a situation exactly like this. It should have been impossible for someone to get through unscathed. With all of the information in here, it would have been foolish to leave it unprotected. If someone had been in here without knowing about his traps, he should have found them unconscious, poison in their veins (not  _ deadly,  _ of course. Hubert wasn’t interested in murdering some poor housekeeper accidentally because she didn’t know the rules, or something. But enough poison to incapacitate the intruder for long enough so Hubert could find and interrogate them). 

But the room is empty, and it looks untouched. Hubert would have to go through it with a fine toothed comb, of course, to figure out if something was taken, or moved, or even just looked at, but for now his attention is drawn to the large box sitting on his desk. He can’t sense any magic around it, no protective shields or spells. It looks like a completely normal, harmless box. 

He doesn’t trust it. 

His mind starts going. There was much he’d need to do to identify this new threat. Whoever had left it clearly knew how to avoid the traps Hubert had set, which meant it was either someone close to him, or that there was a spy among his spies. It wouldn’t be the first time one of his spies had gotten the foolish thought to betray him. But this meant that he would have to be careful who he went to for assistance, careful who in his network he asked for help. He narrows his eyes at the box, unwilling to get too close to inspect it until he’s properly tested it for traps or dark magic. 

All thoughts of the day or the letters he had left for Ferdinand leave his mind as he gets to work. 

* * *

Ferdinand, for what it’s worth, is feeling rather pleased with himself. He’s confident that Hubert will love the coat, and he’s spent the day at one of the soup kitchens in Enbarr, volunteering his time and resources and talking to the people there. It’s a good way to see first hand if they are providing enough support for their most vulnerable citizens, and listening to the people and what they are worried about gives him lots to discuss at his next meeting with Edelgard. It was something his father had never done; he would never have been caught dead at a shelter like this. 

Ferdinand shakes that thought from his mind. It was not the time to dwell on that. 

“You got someone special in your life, Prime Minister?” 

He smiles at Millie, a single mother he had been serving. “You could say that, yes,” he says cryptically. Millie’s girlfriend grins at him. 

“And did you get Minister von Vestra a nice gift today, sir?”

“ _ Irene,”  _ Millie hisses, but Ferdinand just laughs. 

“That is for me to know, and Minister von Vestra to find out,” he says with a wink. 

By the end of the day, he’s in great spirits. Hubert must have seen his gift by now. It wasn’t easy, of course, but Ferdinand had been in Hubert’s office often enough to know where to step to avoid the traps and alarms the man had set up. He had left the box on his desk, where he would be sure to see it. 

It was a beautiful coat. Ferdinand had designed it himself, keeping in mind what Hubert liked, what he complained about, what he always said he needed more of. Pockets and hidden pockets and a whole variety of other shady things that would help Hubert with his work. Ferdinand had put a gold coin in the pocket and hoped that would be enough to show Hubert that it was from him; the practice of leaving coins was no longer widely known, let alone followed. It was his way of telling Hubert that Ferdinand wanted every part of him, the good and the bad, the light and the dark. It was specifically tailored to him. Ferdinand was  _ certain  _ he would love it. 

He had been planning on waiting, to see Hubert in the coat or, ideally, to have Hubert search  _ him  _ out to discuss it, but by the time he returns to the palace he finds himself unwilling to wait for things to happen naturally. So instead of heading to his rooms, he makes his way to Hubert’s office. He is practically bouncing on the spot as he knocks on the door, so much restless energy and anticipation making him antsy. 

But when Hubert does come to the door, he opens it only a crack. Ferdinand frowns; he can’t even tell if Hubert is wearing the coat. 

“Ferdinand,” he says briskly. “I’m afraid now is a bad time.”

“I just wanted to --”

“Another time,” Hubert says. His face softens slightly and he says, “I’m sorry,” and he truly does sound it, but he shuts the door in Ferdinand’s face anyway, and Ferdinand is left there, staring at the door and wondering how he could have been so wrong. 

Hubert must not have liked the coat, and now he doesn’t want to be around Ferdinand because of it. Ferdinand can feel his cheeks burning, upset and embarrassed. Hubert hadn’t even wanted to let him into the room. He hadn’t wanted Ferdinand anywhere near him. Had he hated the gift that much?

Ferdinand feels untethered; he is still just standing in the hall in front of Hubert’s closed door. He shakes his head slightly and turns away, but he doesn’t have any concrete idea of what he’s going to do until he has the thought,  _ I wish Dorothea were here.  _

Yes, that’s what he’d do. He’d write to Dorothea in Brigid. She’d know what to do, and even if she didn’t, she’d know what to say to make him feel better. With purpose once again he sets out, this time heading to his office to start the letter. It would be a while before he heard a response, of course, one of the drawbacks to your best friend moving to another country with her girlfriend, but even writing it all down will start helping him figure out what to do. 

He sees the envelope as soon as he sits down. There’s no name on the front, and he opens it carefully, unsure who could have left it. There’s a letter inside, and when Ferdinand pulls it out to read, a single gold coin drops out and clatters on the desk. 

Ferdinand looks at it, and he thinks about the coin he had left in the pocket of the coat Hubert didn’t like, and he thinks about how he had misread the situation and has potentially ruined one of his closest friendships, and he pushes the letter aside, pulling out blank parchment to write to Dorothea. He’ll go back and read the letter at another time, when he isn't quite so distressed, but if it was some love letter he really didn’t have the energy to read it. He shoves it instead into his desk drawer before pouring his heart out to his best friend. 

* * *

It takes Hubert a couple days before he sits back long enough to realize that Ferdinand hasn’t brought up the letters. Hubert has seen him a few times, at meals, usually, since even Hubert has to eat, but Ferdinand has been giving him a wide berth and won’t look him in the eye. 

Well, Hubert can take a hint. Ferdinand wasn’t interested. Truthfully, he shouldn’t be surprised. They were too different. Ferdinand was a man who lived in brightness; of course he wouldn’t want to be dragged into the shadows. It was fine. It’s fine. 

It’s  _ not  _ fine, actually, but Hubert doesn’t have time to deal with the crushing reality of unrequited love. He has other things to worry about. 

Once he and a select number of his more trustworthy spies have established that the box and its contents are likely not harmful, Hubert opens it up to find… 

A coat?

More tests are done, more magic applied, but it seems that the coat is just a coat. Well, no, it’s not  _ just  _ a coat. It’s a really, really nice coat, and it looks suspiciously like his size. Sure enough, when he tries it on, he finds out that it isn’t simply his size, it’s been  _ tailored specifically  _ to his measurements. Someone had somehow gotten his measurements, and then broken into his office to leave this for him, but  _ why?  _ Was it a taunt? Hubert searches the (many, many) pockets, but all he comes up with is a single gold coin, which only serves to remind him of the one he had given Ferdinand, which makes it feel even more like a taunt. But a small tag on one of the seams gives him an answer: a simple symbol beside the name  _ Leon.  _

He shows it to his spies and orders them to search Enbarr for a tailor with that name and symbol. Hubert doesn’t pray, but if he did, he’d be praying frantically that the tailor was  _ from  _ Enbarr. If he wasn’t, who knew how long it would be until Hubert finds out who was behind this and what they were hoping to achieve from it. As his spies depart, he sits back in his chair and looks at the coat. It was remarkably made, truly, and exactly to Hubert’s taste. It was a little unnerving, really, to think that out there was someone who seemed to know him so well. 

He picks up the golden coin and can’t stop himself from thinking of Ferdinand. 

* * *

One day, the heir to House Valentine was riding home when he came across a beggar. The beggar begged the noble for whatever he could spare, but the noble turned up his nose and rode on, leaving the pitiful man in his dust. 

A year later the noble received a letter explaining that a beggar had been found dead in an alley. He was unsure why he was being told of the death of some peasant, but he continued to read and discovered that the beggar had been an old childhood friend of his, the son of a knight who had fallen on hard times when his father had died. Reading the words, he thought immediately of the beggar he had refused a year ago. The odds of them being the same were low, of course, but he would never truly know, now. It might have been his old friend begging for coin. He might have been able to help. He might have been able to save him. 

Heart heavy, the noble commissioned a grand gravestone for his former friend, and when it was finished he kneeled before it and hung his head. He had come from a place of privilege, and instead of using his wealth to help the lives of those around him he had laughed in the face of the poor. He would never know if that beggar he had refused had been his friend, but in the end it didn’t matter. No person deserved to die alone like this. 

The noble placed a single gold coin on the grave of his childhood friend, and after that he spent the rest of his life in atonement. He died childless, and by order of his will his large fortune was poured back into local schools and shelters. The bloodline of House Valentine ended, but in recognition of his good deeds and donation the day of his death -- the fourteenth day of the Pegasus Moon -- was named in his honour. A tradition was formed, that each year on Valentine’s Day people would give their loved ones a single gold coin, a way to express their love, a way to show them that they loved them for who they were and would always be there when needed. Over the years the tradition warped, and the day became rather co opted by couples; it became customary instead to lavish gifts on your partner or the person you loved, and the original meaning of the day was all but lost. 

But not to Ferdinand. Ferdinand had loved the story from the time he had heard it, and even if Hubert thought the day was a waste of time he loved listening to Ferdinand talk about it, the way his face lit up and his gestures got more and more animated. It was the exact type of story Ferdinand  _ would  _ love; the true nature of nobility shining through. 

_ I left coins in my parents bed each year,  _ Ferdinand had told him, but then his face had fallen.  _ Until -- well. I stopped giving them to my father eventually.  _ Hubert knew why, of course, and he hated von Aegir even more for the way he must have broken his son’s heart when Ferdinand had to watch him become the type of noble Ferdinand hated so much. 

Hubert shakes his head and pockets the coin. 

* * *

It takes less than a day for his spies to report back to him, telling him they had located the tailor. They had questioned him about the coat, and --

“And what?” Hubert asks impatiently. Elric is shifting from foot to foot, looking almost uncomfortable, and Hubert cannot fathom why. 

“I asked if he had recently been commissioned for a coat, one with lots of pockets and to the measurements you had given us, and he said yes. So I asked him if he remembered who had ordered it, and he… well, he laughed, sir, and he said ‘of course I do, it was the Prime Minister.’”

Hubert says this sentence to himself twice before opening his mouth and saying, “What?”

“I checked Minister von Aegir’s accounts, sir, to see if the tailor was being truthful, and there was a charge in his personal account for the same amount that the tailor had said the coat cost. It all traces back to him.”

Hubert finds he doesn’t really have anything to say to this. Elric waits for orders, but when none seem forthcoming he asks, “Should I go, sir?” Hubert nods and flaps his hand vaguely in the direction of the door, and when Elric has left, he stands up and studies the coat again. He never would have expected it to have been  _ Ferdinand,  _ although in retrospect that does explain how the traps in Hubert’s office were avoided, as Ferdinand knew about them all. It just wasn’t Ferdinand’s style; it had none of his flair, none of his personality. Just a coat and a coin. 

But it was rather  _ Hubert,  _ wasn’t it? And that, perhaps, was the point. 

For the first time in days, he smiles. Then he goes to find Ferdinand. 

* * *

Ferdinand is in his office, throwing himself into his work in an effort to try and forget how miserable he is, when there is a knock on his door. He gets up eagerly; logically he knows he won’t have gotten a response from Dorothea this quickly, but he can’t help the way his heart leaps. 

But when he opens the door, it’s Hubert there. Ferdinand hadn’t been expecting to see him, and when Hubert asks if he can come in, he’s too shocked to think of a reason no. 

Hubert stands in the middle of the room, a small smirk on his face, and Ferdinand does his best to make everything seem normal. “Hubert,” he says, forcing cheer in his voice. “How nice to see you. Do you need something?”

Hubert’s smirk only seems to grow. “I just wanted to thank you for my coat,” he says. 

Ferdinand feels his heart stutter in his chest, and the only thing he can think to say is, “What coat?”

Hubert laughs. “Ferdinand. You are far too genuine a person to be any good at lying.”

Ferdinand sighs. “Oh, all right. I am sorry if I complicated things. If you truly do not like it I can easily return it.”

Hubert’s eyebrows knit together. “Not like it? Who said anything about not liking it?”

“You have not worn it once! And you have been avoiding me, do not try to deny it. Be truthful with me Hubert, please. There is no need to --”

“Ferdinand,” Hubert interrupts. “You left an unsigned package in the middle of my boobytrapped office. I thought it was a threat. I’ve been investigating it for days.”

Ferdinand lets this sink in, and then he stares at Hubert in wonder. “Not everything is a threat, Hubert!”

“It’s my job to see everything that way. It’s how I can keep Lady Edelgard, and our subjects,” Hubert pauses, and the way he is looking at Ferdinand makes him flush, “and  _ you,  _ safe. But I am sorry that I jumped into things without stopping to ask if you happened to know anything about it.”

“Well, I am sorry that I failed to think through what you would do in this situation.” And then Ferdinand smiles, something warm coming to life in his chest. “Does this mean you do like it, then, dear? It fits fine?”

“It fits better than fine,” Hubert replies. “Do I want to know where you got my measurements from?”

“I have secrets, just as you do,” Ferdinand says with a wink. Hubert smiles, but then it drops off his face, and when he speaks, it is uncharacteristically uncertain. 

“In the vein of being truthful… did you not like your gift?”

Ferdinand doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He hadn't gotten anything -- 

“Oh!” He exclaims. “Oh, were those from you? I am so sorry, my dear, I was so put out about the coat I haven’t had a chance to read them. I shall do that immediately!”

“Er -- I will leave you to it, then,” Hubert says, moving towards the door, but Ferdinand grabs his arm and pushes him into one of the chairs in front of his desk, grabbing the letter from his desk drawer and sitting down. “Ferdinand, really --”

“Hubert,” Ferdinand says, looking up and narrowing his eyes. “What is written in this letter that you do not wish for me to read?”

“Oh, fine, you absolutely insufferable man, go ahead, then,” Hubert says, sitting back and crossing his arms. Ferdinand laughs and then carefully opens the letter open. Now that he’s looking at it, the handwriting is very recognizably Hubert’s; if he had even so much as glanced at it he would have recognized it. Perhaps then he wouldn’t have sulked for days. 

But nothing would come from thinking about what should have happened. He sets to reading the letter instead, and although he can feel Hubert’s eyes on him, soon he is so engrossed in the words that he no longer notices.

When he is finished he looks up at Hubert; the hand that is holding the letter is shaking slightly, and Hubert shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. “If you don’t like it --”

There are many things Ferdinand could say. He could tell Hubert that he loved it, that reading the words Hubert had so lovingly crafted for him made him feel like he could fly. He could tell him that he’s loved him for years, he was just too cowardly to do anything about it. He could tell him that he wants nothing more than to wake up beside him each morning. He could tell him so many things. 

He tells him none of those things. Instead he gets up, and he hauls Hubert out of the chair, and he wraps his arms snugly around Hubert’s neck and kisses him full on the mouth. After a moment Hubert’s arms come up around him, holding Ferdinand tightly to him, and Ferdinand can feel him smile against his mouth. 

“Thank you, darling,” Ferdinand says. “I love it.”

“Not quite as useful as a coat, I’m afraid,” Hubert says. Ferdinand gives him a stern look. 

“It’s perfect,” he says, and Hubert gives him the softest look before pulling him back in for another kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter @felixfraldaddy


End file.
